


Sweethearts

by HisAngelThursday



Series: Gangster Idiots in Love [4]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Bisexual Disaster Tommy Shelby, Bottom Tommy Shelby, Character Development, Come Eating, Communication Failure, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Numbskullery, Feminization, Give Ollie A Raise 2k20, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Poor Ollie, Power Play, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Teasing, Tenderness, Top Alfie Solomons, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday
Summary: Neither Tommy nor Alfie knows how to be someone's boyfriend. Their efforts often yield disastrous results.Tommy is frustrated with how gently Alfie's been treating him lately. But when he purposefully provokes him, he might get more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Gangster Idiots in Love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756609
Comments: 81
Kudos: 277





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to 'Helpless,' but it also works as a stand-alone! All you have to know is Tommy and Alfie are fumbling their way through a lovingly dysfunctional, developing relationship.

Tommy has never had a boyfriend. He has, of course, had male lovers – it seems absurd to him that any sexually well-versed person would relegate themselves only to one gender. But a lover isn’t the same as a boyfriend. 

A lover is a body against his. In the dark, behind the hay bales. Stealing breath from each other’s mouths. A lover is pressing himself against a fellow soldier, knowing they could die at any moment, but feeling the drumbeat of one another’s hearts and realizing that they’re both alive. For one perfect moment, they’re both alive. 

Tommy has had male lovers. Quiet moments in the dark, to be left in the dark. 

That’s not the same as a boyfriend. A boyfriend is – fuck, what is a boyfriend, anyway? A boyfriend is something schoolgirls have. A girlhood sweetheart. A beau, who’s name you doodle in your notebook instead of listening to the teacher. You giggle and hang on his arm and moon over his broad shoulders. 

The comparison alone makes Tommy flush from the inside out. Even Ada stopped calling her men ‘boyfriends’ past the age of twenty. Though she does call her women ‘girlfriends.’ Somehow, that seems more mature. 

Tommy hasn’t been the sort to have girlfriends, either. Somehow, that feels frivolous, temporary. If it wasn’t going to be a quiet moment in the dark, then he’s always gravitated towards the long term, the permanent. And, unlike his relationships with men, long-term relationships with women always felt like more of an option.

He’d planned to marry Greta. He’d planned to marry Grace. He didn’t consider them girlfriends, but future wives. Look how well that had worked out for him. 

“Something on your mind, treacle?” 

Tommy remembers that Alfie is present. A warm weight next to him, bowing the bed. 

“You’ve been looking at that paperwork you find oh-so-interesting,” Alfie explains. “But I get the sense you aren’t reading it.” 

“I am reading it,” says Tommy, but of course, he wasn’t. 

They’re at Alfie’s house. They’d been talking business after dinner, late into the night, and they’d agreed that it made more sense for Tommy to stay over. They’d already planned to meet early the next morning to continue planning their latest expansion, and staying here would give Tommy more time to work in lieu of the long drive home. It made sense. 

But now that he’s here – in Alfie’s bed, wearing Alfie’s sleeping shirt, while Alfie reads some paperback next to him – it feels a little too domestic. 

Alfie just shrugs and goes back to his reading. “Let me know if you need a break,” he chirps, in that ridiculous singsong. “And if you’ve changed your mind about letting me use my considerable skills to help you relax.” 

He’d told Alfie, in no uncertain terms, that he would only stay over if Alfie let him work unmolested, without feeling him up or trying to instigate anything. Now, he almost regrets that Alfie’s keeping his word. It feels more intimate to be in bed together without having sex. 

But it’s too late to change his mind now, not without looking weak and susceptible to the whims of his baser impulses. And he really does have to get this work done. 

It’s hard to concentrate. Being in this bed makes him think of the last time he spent the night here, when he was sick and barely able to care for himself. He’s been able to recover from that particular humiliation only by rigorously denying to himself that it ever happened. 

He’s grateful that, miraculously, Alfie has had the decency to refrain from mentioning it. It made Tommy trust him a bit more, though he’s still wary that Alfie’s just waiting for the right time to use it against him.

“Can I get you anything?” Alfie asks abruptly, voice almost conspicuously innocent. “Tea?”

Tommy eyes him strangely. “No,” he says. If he’d wanted tea, he’d have gotten it himself. 

“Hmm.” Alfie pauses. “Maybe a nice snack, then?”

“Alfie. Do I look like the sort of person who often snacks?” 

“Yeah, for dinner.” Alfie runs a hand over Tommy’s flat stomach. “What you call a proper meal, I’d call an appetizer.” 

Tommy glares at him. If he didn’t have papers in his hands and an open folder in his lap, he’d have swatted Alfie away. 

For a minute, Alfie’s hand dips lower, into the natural concave of Tommy’s hip. He’s wearing only shorts beneath Alfie’s sleeping shirt. It would be so easy for Alfie to just reach in and take Tommy’s soft cock in his hand, play with it. 

Tommy can see the bearish glint of hunger in Alfie’s eye, and he knows Alfie’s thinking the same thing he is. Tommy wishes he would. He wishes Alfie would play with him, taunt him with his desire, make him helpless with it.

But then, the hand retracts, and Alfie’s rolling over. “Well, I’m going to try and get some rest,” he says, before Tommy can even think to react. “Nighty night, sweetheart.”

Tommy gapes impotently at Alfie’s back. He can’t even discern if Alfie’s purposefully teasing him, or if he’s actually trying to be nice.

He’s been able to tell, lately, that Alfie’s been making an effort to be more considerate of his needs outside of sex, and it’s a proper fucking nuisance. Because Tommy can’t just  _ ask  _ to have sex, can he? That would be an admission of his weakness, of how badly he wants to be moved by Alfie’s hands. 

Alfie’s recent, obnoxious attentiveness also raises some genuine concerns. 

For one thing, it coincides a little too much with Tommy’s recent illness, making Tommy worry that Alfie thinks he’s weak and fragile after seeing him like that. The thought is too concerning for him to dwell on it too long. 

For another, it sort of begs the question of how their relationship is developing. Does Alfie think they’re boyfriends? Seeing as how he’s been very vocal about his belief that they’ll one day be husbands, it’s possible.

The realization makes Tommy feel vaguely panicked. The fact that their relationship is taking the shape of something identifiable makes it seem real somehow. The fact that it’s progressing means it might actually be going somewhere.

And just the word, the way it’s implanted itself in his mind – _ boyfriends. _ Tommy’s never thought of himself as the sort of person who’d have  _ boyfriends _ . It makes him feel small and pink, like a virgin. Too disparate from the image he’s so carefully cultivated.

Tommy shakes his head, and tries to put his mind on his work. It’s not like he’ll be sleeping much tonight, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie makes the questionable decision to wait for Tommy Shelby to communicate.

Alfie instinctively reaches for Tommy in the morning, which is a properly sappy thing to do, but Alfie’s never been one to disguise what he desires. He whines his disappointment when he finds that Tommy isn’t there – just a vacant, Gypsy-shaped space on the bed where the little fucker should be. Can’t hold still for five fucking seconds, can he. Especially not if it’s to let himself be held for a little while.

Alfie doesn’t bother making his bed – that’s why he’s got a housekeeper, paying extra for one who will move around the house as unseen as a ghost – and goes about his version of a morning routine. It doesn’t involve much. Brushing his teeth without looking in the mirror to do it, and throwing on trousers and a button-down shirt over the underclothes he sleeps in. He’s a low-maintenance beauty.

He comes downstairs to the pleasant aroma of coffee intermingled with the not-so-pleasant aroma of cigarette smoke. Tommy is standing at the counter pouring himself what must be at least his second cup. 

By God, he’s a proper sight. Hair sticking up like dandelion fuzz, Alfie’s sleeping shirt big enough on him to serve as a nightgown. Small and soft as a newborn foal. 

It reminds Alfie that there is, in fact, progress being made – months ago, he never would have let Alfie see him like this. Alfie wants to see this every day. 

The only thing spoiling the picture is the cigarette, pinched between his index and middle finger. Alfie lets out a bearish growl and lumbers up to him, unceremoniously plucking it from Tommy’s hand.

“I was smoking that,” Tommy grumbles, in a way that makes Alfie think he’s gotten even less sleep than usual. 

“I know.” Alfie himself takes a drag – a social smoker himself – before tossing it into the sink. “And you know how I fucking well feel about it. Your body’s far too precious for you to be polluting it that way.” 

He wraps his arms around Tommy’s ridiculously tiny waist and pulls him to his chest, burying his nose in his hair. He fucking smells like a little piece of heaven – the floral pungeance of his expensive shampoo and whatever perfume he usually wears, undercut with the musky scent of sleep. 

Tommy, to his delight, pushes back with a soft little mewl – too early to put up his usual fight, Alfie supposes – pushing his head into the crook of Alfie’s neck and baring the pale stretch of his neck. It’s still clean shaven, though Alfie can see the pepper-pricks of stubble just beginning to surface.

“Affectionate little thing, aren’t you?” Alfie can’t help but tease, his bastardly nature rearing its head even in the sweetest of moments. 

He feels Tommy scowl, the side of his face pressed to Alfie’s own. “Alfie.” 

“Like one of those little kittens.” He caresses Tommy’s nipples through the soft fabric, as if in apology for the taunt. “Walks around so cold and proud, but really just wants to be held and petted.”

“Don’t make me spill this on you,” Tommy growls, indicating the coffee. 

Alfie feels himself smile. They really are making progress, aren’t they? In the past, Tommy would have tried to leave if Alfie had made such a comparison. He supposes everything feels a bit settled now, a bit safer. 

“Get me one of those, treacle.” And then, because he’s been informed by a concerned third party that he needs to be more affectionate, “Please.” 

Tommy actually glances at Alfie, as if confused by the sudden appearance of manners. But he reaches for the cup anyway, like the closet submissive he truly is, standing on his toes to do so. Advertently or otherwise, that pushes his pert little arse right back into Alfie’s crotch. 

Now, Alfie’s always a bit frisky in the morning, and he didn’t get any last night, so can anyone truly blame him if he grinds against Tommy a bit with a pleased moan? Or if he slides his hands down Tommy’s front to grope his little cock through the layers of cotton? 

Well, apparently  _ someone _ can blame him – specifically, Tommy. “Alfie. I have to get ready,” he scolds. 

Now, Alfie can feel Tommy’s cock, and the obstinate little fucker is at least halfway interested. But, Alfie’s been instructed that he needs to show Tommy that their relationship isn’t based around sex if he wants to keep him. And Alfie does want to keep him. He’s been fated to marry him, after all, and he has to keep him to marry him.

So, reluctantly – very reluctantly – Alfie pulls away, very much on edge, with balls that are probably by now a royal shade of blue. The room feels too cold without Tommy’s body heat, making Alfie feel proper sorry for himself.

And Tommy actually has the nerve to look jaded about it – like Alfie’s the one who rejected  _ him _ . “Don’t you have to get ready, too?” he asks, handing Alfie his cup of coffee – which, if Alfie’s being honest, he forgot he asked for. 

Alfie looks down at himself, and then back to Tommy. “I already did.” 

Tommy, the prissy little fuck, looks Alfie up and down, vaguely horrified. “Oh,” he says, as if realizing that Alfie’s intent on going out in public like this. “Well. If you’re not going to shower, you might as well get that toothpaste out of your beard.”

Alfie wants to bend Tommy over right there, spank and fuck the insolence out of him. But, once again: he’s been instructed that, if he wants to keep Tommy, he needs to show him that he’s valued for reasons other than sex. So, just to be safe, he’s going to wait for Tommy to ask. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Tommy says, oddly emphatic. 

And fuck, the mental image of Tommy showering isn’t helping Alfie’s arousal. Water – hot to the point of scalding, as Tommy likes it – cascading over that pretty body. Maybe he’ll use his hands to take care of his arousal. The thought makes Alfie cross, to picture Tommy pleasuring himself after rejecting Alfie’s advances. “Hmm,” he grunts. 

Tommy looks oddly disappointed – though, with eyes that large, it’s easy to look disappointed – and exits the room, coffee still in hand. What, does he plan to take it into the shower with him? 

Alfie grumbles as he rummages around for something to eat for breakfast before he and Tommy complete their work and go their separate ways for the day. Maybe he can convince the pint-sized fucker to eat a few bites himself.

He knows he has to rethink his current approach. Though it seemed like sound advice when he first received it, it may not be the wisest idea to wait for Tommy Shelby to communicate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, all this sexual tension is going somewhere! And next chapter, we'll find out who's been giving Alfie advice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Tommy, Professional Numbskulls, get relationship advice. That doesn't mean they'll use it properly.

Later that day at work, Alfie’s still feeling cross. Once most of the official business for the day has been taken care of, he calls Ollie to his office. 

“It’s not working,” he grumbles, arms folded and glaring at his desk. Absolutely _ not  _ sulking, thank you very much.

Ollie fiddles with his notebook. “What’s not working, Mister Solomons?”

“The fuck do you mean  _ what’s _ not working? The advice you gave me, you ignorant git,” Alfie scoffed. “The relationship advice.” 

“Oh.” A miserable look overtakes Ollie’s face. “Sir, as I said, I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do or nothing. I’m not a relationship expert.”

“Well. You’re the closest I’ve got to one, pathetic as that is.”

It’s true: Alfie’s many half-siblings are even less well-versed in the matters of love than he is, most with bastard children and absent partners, or who  _ are  _ the absent partner. Runs in the family, he supposes. 

His men are all fucking Sodomites, and all his other friends have tried to kill him at some point, and vice versa. So asking, say, Darby Sabini probably wouldn’t yield the most heartfelt advice. 

If Alfie were a better man, he’d feel guilty for dragging Ollie into it. Ollie hadn’t meant to get involved. His advice, if it could be called that, had been offered spontaneously, after Tommy had fallen ill about a month ago.

“If you want him to open up to you, Mister Solomons, you really ought to show him that you like him.” 

Alfie had been about to hurl something heavy at Ollie’s head for daring to speak to him as an equal, but something about the way he’d said it made him pause. “The fuck do you mean?” Alfie said, paper weight still in hand, in case he changed his mind. “I do show him I like him. I fuck him almost every time I see him.” 

Ollie looked vaguely disgusted, almost as if he didn’t  _ want _ to think about his employer’s cock or anything related to it. Tasteless heathen. “That doesn’t mean you like him, sir. Think about all the people you fucked who you always complain about.”

“They’re different,” Alfie grumbled, but the boy had a point. 

“All I’m saying is, if you want to keep him – marry him, like you’ve been talking about – you really ought to show him that you like him for something other than, you know. Sex.” Ollie shuffled at the word, like some kind of sexually repressed Goy. “Otherwise, he might just think you’re using him.”

Now, in the present, Ollie looks like he regrets opening his mouth to begin with.

“I’ve been polite to him. Last night, I offered him tea, like some kind of fucking nancy, right, and sat there in bed without fucking him like some kind of fucking monk. Do I look like a monk to you, Ollie?”

“No, sir, you don’t look like a monk,” sighs Ollie. “Look, I didn’t tell you to stop – you know – fucking him.” And there’s that bashful, Goy-ish shuffle again. “I just said you should do other nice things besides that.” 

“Yes, and I have been,” Alfie declares. “This morning, yeah, I said  _ please _ when I told him to pour me coffee.” 

Ollie looks conflicted at that. “Well, Mister Solomons, as remarkable as that is,” he says, clearly choosing his words carefully, “most people do a little more than show, um. Basic manners, when they want to show someone they care about them.” 

Alfie contemplates this. “Like what?”

“Well. When I’m seeing someone, I bring them flowers.” 

“I do bring him flowers. The very first night we went out, I brought him some beautiful fucking hyacinths,” Alfie reminises. “And then I took him out on a picnic, and we talked about religion, and I fucked him on all fours by a picturesque fucking lake. Proper romantic, it was.” 

“ _ Mister Solomons, _ ” Ollie exclaims, eyes wide with horror and ears crimson. 

“Oh, quit being a little boy,” Alfie grumbles, with a dismissive gesture. “I also bring him gifts, all sorts of gifts, so if you think that’s the problem, it’s not.”

“Well.” Ollie’s clearly still recovering, and takes a minute before he can speak again. “It’s not just about gifts, you see. When you love someone, you also have to give them your time and interest. Not just for sex,” he’s quick to clarify. 

“I do!”

“And not just for business, either. Or, you know, telling him your stories,” Ollie adds, hesitantly. “You tell everyone your, um. Stories.” 

Alfie contemplates the paperweight in his hand, and how good it would look flying at Ollie’s head. “So what do you suggest, then?” 

“I don’t know, sir. Take an interest in his life. Ask how his day’s going, not just about business, but his personal life, his family, what he’s doing in his free time. He’ll be touched that you care.”

“Hmm.” Alfie slowly, carefully, puts the paper weight down. “Thank you, Ollie. That’ll be all.” 

Ollie looks relieved as he exits the room. Alfie waits till the door’s shut behind him, before reaching for the phone. 

* * *

Tommy’s in his office when he gets the phone call. Unexpected phone calls are always a cause for concern. 

Not only does it take his mind off of his important, time-sensitive work, but when he answers, he half expects to hear a ransom demand, that someone’s been arrested, or abducted, or blown to bits, or trampled by a horse.

He makes his voice authoritative. “Hello.” 

“Tommy, darling,” thrums Alfie’s comically cheerful voice on the other end. “What are you up to, my dear?”

Tommy blinks, partly relieved, partly confused, and partially annoyed that Alfie would disrupt him this way. “...I’m working,” he states, trying to convey his irritation without starting an argument. 

“Okay. Well, besides that, what are you doing?”

“Besides working? I don’t do anything besides working when I’m working.” 

Alfie hesitates, as if part of him realizes the ludicrosity of this line of inquiry. “Well, what were you doing before that?”

“Before I was working, I was fucking sleeping. At your house. You know that.” His patience is wearing seriously thin. 

“...Well, what are you doing after you finish working?” Alfie’s tone has turned almost plaintive. 

“After I finish working, I’m going to go to bed,” says Tommy, “and then I’m going to wake up and continue working, and so on. Alfie, what the fuck is this about?”

There’s a long pause, and Tommy, foolishly enough, actually expects that he’ll get some kind of explanation. 

Instead, Alfie asks, “...How’s your family, then, Tom? What are they up to?”

“Ideally, they’re _ also _ fucking working.” Tommy’s trying not to shout. “Though I’m sure plenty are fucking about and doing other things, in which case, I don’t fucking know about it. Is there anything else I can do for you today, Alfie?” 

Another long pause.

“No,” concedes Alfie, sounding oddly dejected. Tommy, despite his better judgment, feels bad. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sweetie, I too have some very important business to attend to. Namely, yelling at Ollie.” 

“Don’t fucking yell at Ollie,” Tommy sighs, without knowing why Alfie would yell at Ollie to begin with. He leans wearily back in his chair. “Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?”

“Yes.” Alfie’s voice is still sulky.

“Alright. See you then.” Tommy hangs up the phone, and wonders aloud, “What the fuck was that about?”

* * *

Tommy finally gives in and confides in Ada about the situation over dinner tonight. She has more experience with men than he does, at least in terms of – and he internally panics at the very term – relationships. 

He tells her about today’s bizarre telephone call, and how infuriatingly gentle Alfie’s been with him lately. “And then there’s the matter of – ” Tommy clears his throat, feeling his face grow hot and hoping it doesn’t show – “intimacy. We’ve been doing it less.” 

Ada looks infuriating, simultaneously endeared and a little sad. Maybe because Tommy never gets this bashful when discussing his relationships with women. “Well, have you told him you want to do it more?”

“No,” Tommy admits. If anything, he’s discouraged Alfie’s attempts. “But usually, he’s the one to initiate it.” 

“Well. There you have it,” says Ada with confidence, going back to her steak. “Men need validation too, Tom! Think about how your girlfriends would have felt if you never instigated things.” 

“Well, Alfie’s not a woman, Ada.” 

“I’m aware of that. But neither are you.” She rolls her eyes. “So a lot of things are going to be different, aren’t they?” 

It’s a good point. So much of this is new to Tommy, that it’s easy for him to feel overwhelmed by it. He’s glad Ada is here. 

“Look. What you need to do is take initiative. Spice things up, get adventurous! It’s what I always do when I’m seeing someone and things start getting stale.” 

“And how do you suggest that?” For once in his life, Tommy’s grateful to listen to someone who seems to know what they’re talking about. He’ll do just about anything Ada suggests, if she thinks it will point him in something resembling the right direction. 

Ada gets a devilish glint in her eye, a sly smile that makes Tommy a bit concerned about whatever she has in mind. “Well. It’s a little risque,” she begins, “but here’s what I’d do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing comments! My goal is to post two chapters per weekend, and this one was easy to complete early. 
> 
> Lots of smut in the next chapters!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy makes the questionable decision of taunting Alfie Solomons into action.

Now, if Alfie asked Tommy to do this, Tommy would be mortified. Hopelessly turned on, yes, but also mortified. 

But as soon as it’s part of a strategy, as soon as it’s part of a cause, a broader goal – it’s like flicking a switch. He can do anything, as long as he knows it’s meeting a greater end. For the sake of business, he’s flattered, he’s groveled, he’s begged, right up until the point where he slits his enemies’ throats.

This feels like the same sort of situation, though the goal isn’t quite as clear. It is, of course, a way to assert his own power. He doesn’t care to examine it much further, to scrutinize what he’s actually hoping to gain. This is a game, a game of strategy, and he’s good at those. So he lets himself enjoy it.

He gathers his thoughts, and picks up the phone. It rings longer than usual before anyone picks up. 

“‘Ello?” comes Alfie’s bearish snarl. Tommy can hear the sleep in his voice. He has a tendency to forget that not everyone rises as early as he does. 

“Hello, Mister Solomons.” Tommy knows how to use his voice. Right now, he makes it cool as frozen coal, smooth as silk. 

There’s a pause, and an immediate change of tone. “Tommy.” He clearly hadn’t expected, or mentally prepared himself, for Tommy to use that particular voice. “And what can I do for you, treacle, that warrants you disturbing my rest at this ungodly hour?”

“Only wanted to ensure that you’d still be up to our meeting today, Mister Solomons.” Alfie’s recently hired a slew of new “bakers,” and they’ll be schooling them today on the rules of their business. “Wouldn’t want to greet the new help if you’re not up to performing.”

There’s a light growl on the other end, and Tommy smirks to himself. He loves when he can get a reaction. “Oh, I’m up to performing, sweetie. Moreover, I’d be glad to prove that, right, at any time of your choosing.”

“Hmm. Would you?” Tommy makes his voice coy, disinterested, aloof. “Because lately, it seems all you’re interested in doing is offering me tea. Like some kindly old woman.” 

The silence on the other end makes Tommy’s heartbeat quickens, a delicious spike of adrenaline. Fuck, he likes this. Taunting Alfie, the danger of it, is a decadent thrill.

“So, that’s what you want,” the voice growls on the other end, dark and grumbling, octaves lower. “A firmer hand.”

Tommy is careful not to let Alfie hear the way his breath hitches. Damn him, of course Alfie has to turn the tables.

“That it, sweetie?” Alfie, the bastard, seems to sense he’s gained the upper hand. Each word curls with satisfaction, with deliberate condescension. “You need me to remind you who’s in charge? You only had to ask, but of course, you’re just a bashful little thing, aren’t you. Don’t worry, dear old Alfie will give you what you need.”

Tommy feels suddenly ripe with irritation. He hasn’t been called ‘bashful’ since he was a child, before he learned to put people off with his unblinking, icy stare. He hates Alfie for using it against him now, and for the heat in his cheeks for confirming Alfie’s assessment, if only to himself.

“We’ll see how  _ bashful _ I am today, Alfie.” It’s surprisingly hard for him to get the word out, and he hopes Alfie can’t hear the way his voice wavers around it. “I’ll be wearing something special for you.”

“Oh?” Alfie asks just a little too quickly, betraying his interest. Tommy feels triumphant for making him lose his footing, if only just a little. “And what would that be?”

Tommy smiles. This will be the fun part. “Well. You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?” He doesn’t give Alfie time to calibrate his response to this. “See you soon, Mister Solomons.”

He hangs up with an air of crisp relish, feeling thoroughly accomplished. His bath is drawn, and Alfie’s surprise is laid out on the bed with Tommy’s suit. This will be an interesting day.

* * *

Alfie can’t concentrate for the rest of the morning, and he stews with irritation at Tommy’s ability to totally disrupt his focus. He entertains fantasies of ravaging him as soon as he gets here, ripping his shirt open and sending buttons popping, bending him over and taking him while all his men watch. The little slut would be too busy moaning at that point to offer any complaints.

“That would show him to be a fucking tease, wouldn’t it,” Alfie mutters allowed, while watching Ollie take inventory. He likes to occasionally talk to himself in front of his men, just to remind them he’s crazy and prone to unprovoked violence.

And then there’s the matter of Tommy’s “surprise.” What scandalous thing could he possibly be wearing that he’d be comfortable flaunting in front of all of Alfie’s men? It doesn’t make sense. Alfie’s impressed with Tommy’s ability to leave him baffled, but too horny and frustrated to give him a great deal of credit for it. 

He’s never spent so much time checking the clock, barely paying attention as the newly recruited bakers shuffle into position. If someone had snuck an assassin in amongst them, right, Alfie wouldn’t have notice at all, and then wouldn’t Tommy be sorry for being such a minx. 

Alfie’s still feeling sorry for himself when the little bastard himself finally struts in, pleased as a cat with a canary in its mouth. The first thing Alfie notices – besides, as always, how fucking unfairly stunning he looks – is that he’s not dressed in anything out of the ordinary, except his usual razor sharp suit. 

Alfie is furious. Was Tommy simply playing with him? Was this all some kind of cruel fucking bluff, in a nefarious Gypsy ploy to leave him horny and confounded? 

“Hello, Mister Solomons,” Tommy purrs, in that same factory-smoke rumble he used on the phone. Properly unfair too, that is. He bats those lovely eyelashes over frosty blue eyes, and that, right then, is when Alfie notices. 

Another flash of blue, at Tommy’s collar. Tommy’s collar, which has been left uncharacteristically unbuttoned. Showing what looks like the silken strap of a brazire. 

Tommy can see the moment Alfie notices – of course he can – and his fingers shoot up to button his collar before any of the men can see. His smirk tells Alfie more than he needs to know. 

He launches into the usual, eloquent spiel about rules and getting along and efficiency in the workplace and not harassing or disemboweling one another, but to Alfie, it might as well be the tittering of a bird. Because all he can look at is Thomas’s arse, and the way the distinctive strap of a garter is outlined through his suit. Visible only if you’re looking for it, but visible all the same. Which was clearly his intention. 

Lingerie. The little fucker is wearing lingerie. Under his suit, in the fucking workplace. Alfie is, for once, speechless. 

He only realizes Tommy is speaking to him when he repeats his name – “Mister Solomons?” – with that fucking faux innocence, that sinful flutter of his lashes.

“Right.” Alfie clears his throat, and launches into his bad cop routine, making his voice snarl and roar when he tells the men of the consequences for breaking any of the established rules. He’s more ferocious than usual, directing all of his pent-up Sodomistic energy into his voice.

It is, evidently, effective: the men flinch at every bellow, standing soldier-straight and making respectful eye-contact, nodding when prompted. When he politely dismisses them, with a roar of, “You flea-bitten bastards are EXCUSED from my presence,” he turns his attention on Tommy. 

“So. A surprise, hmm?” He keeps his voice low enough that the men won’t hear it over the shuffle of their own feet. Not that Alfie cares who knows – he wants them all to know – but he knows Tommy does. “Doesn’t that only count if I get to unwrap it?”

“Well, not right now.” Tommy is so much different when he thinks he’s in control of a situation. There’s a smirk to his lips and a proud tilt to his chin that Alfie can’t wait to fuck right out of him. “I have meetings today, don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Alfie tries to keep the snarl out of his voice, not wanting to gratify the lascivious little minx any more than he has already. By the way Tommy’s mouth curls upwards, he’s unsuccessful. “But, this evening, right?”

Tommy appears to think about it. Just when he thinks he’s been pushed past the breaking point, that Tommy’s audacity and bastardly tendencies have reached their threshold, the little fucker, the little tunnel-dwelling, jewel-thieving, heart-stealing whore, has the nerve to shake his head. 

“I’m sorry, Alfie. But you just haven’t seemed up to it lately,” he laments, with exaggerated gravitas. “Why don’t you go home and enjoy some tea and biscuits, because you clearly can’t give me what I need.”

And with that, he struts right past him, putting on his long black coat with a flourish as he makes for the door. 

Alfie is seething with silent rage and sexual frustration, but also the kind of calmness that only occurs when one has been pushed past their limits. 

Tommy has made big fucking mistake, deciding to goad Alfie Solomons. And Alfie will make his revenge pleasurable for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my amazing commenters! You're my greatest motivators when it comes to regular posting. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon, and will feature Alfie's revenge.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie shows Tommy who's in charge.

Tommy spends the rest of the day feeling puffed up on accomplishment. How often does he get the better of Alfie Solomons? How many men can say they have? The feeling of Alfie’s eyes on him, blatantly staring as Tommy addressed their men, had stoked his feelings of power like a furnace. 

It was fairly easy to get the lingerie on short notice – for a man of his standing, it’s fairly easy to get anything on short notice. He could have just worn some of Ada’s – he’s not that much larger than her, she was a bit too keen to point out – but he’d rather step in front of a freight train than wear his sister’s undergarments. 

Besides, he wanted to get a particular shade of blue. As blue as the hyacinths Alfie got him, that still sit in his office window. Alfie said they remind him of his eyes.

After leaving Alfie’s bakery, he knows the best course of action would probably be to find somewhere discreet to slip the lingerie off. The last thing he needs is to get jumped by his enemies and have them discover his choice of underwear (why does the prospect mildly arouse him? He’s concerned for his own well-being.) Or worse, get hit by a car, and have the whole family find out as he’s dressed for his funeral. 

But his nerves are still crackling with confidence and adrenaline, the thrill of his victory. So he leaves them on, telling himself there simply isn’t enough time to change, feeding off of the shameful buzz of knowing he’s wearing women’s undergarments while conducting business, while negotiating and intimidating and commanding respect from those around him. No one knows – he’d see it in their faces if anyone even suspected – and it feeds into Tommy’s hubris even more. 

He returns to his office at the end of the day, contemplating the situation with Alfie and what his next course of action should be. Part of him, the shameful, animal part, wants to call Alfie now, arrange a meeting at Alfie’s house, in Alfie’s bed. Goad him into treating him roughly, shoving him around, reminding him which of them is the stronger. Tommy feels himself flush at the impulse as he climbs the stairs, suspenders cutting not unpleasantly into his thighs.

But the part of him that’s responsible for his self-image and ego wants to maintain this victory for as long as he possibly can. He wants to hold Alfie’s desire over his head, use it to his advantage, use it to avoid getting hurt. Use it to make their relationship into something identifiable: into a game of desire between dangerous men, rather than a love affair between sweethearts. 

He’s still contemplating his strategy when he opens the door – and finds Alfie waiting inside for him. Despite the fact that he’s sitting in Tommy’s chair, behind his desk, he gives the impression that he’s crouched and ready to spring. There’s an unhinged, feral look in his eyes, but he’s controlled. 

Fuck. Alfie isn’t acting on impulse. He’s planned something, and he’s putting it into action.

Tommy does his best to appear unaffected, which shouldn’t be hard for him – he’s had a lot of practice. But Alfie always makes him feel just a little weaker, more unsure. Some kind of gadjo witchcraft. 

“Mister Solomons,” he greets him. As much as he wants to run out the door before this can escalate, he knows that would show weakness. He closes it behind him.

“Thomas,” Alfie growls. His eyes rove over him indulgently, like he’s already devouring him. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“It’s my office.” 

“Well, yes. But it’s also my office, innit?”

Tommy tilts his head, trying not to show how much the assertion irritates him. “And how did you reach that conclusion, Mister Solomons?”

“Well. It’s really just logic, right,” Alfie explains. “Because, you see, I own you. And seeing as I own you, mate, I also own everything that belongs to you, don’t I?”

Tommy’s too aroused to coherently think for a minute, which is, of course, an issue. “Alfie, this is my office, and I have to lock up for the day.” 

“Oh?” Alfie’s voice lilts indulgently. “That a fact?”

“That’s a fact.” 

“Is it?”

“It is. Kindly leave, and I’ll call you at my convenience.”

Tommy’s barely finished his sentence when Alfie pulls the gun from behind the desk and points it at him. 

On some intuitive level, Tommy knows it isn’t loaded. But just the idea that it might be makes his heart and his cock jump embarrassingly at the same time. 

“Lock that door,” Alfie instructs him. 

Tommy does, like his hand has a mind of its own.

“Now.” Once again, he leans back comfortably. “Take off your clothes. Go ahead, start taking ‘em off, till I tell you to stop.” 

Tommy’s heart is pounding, and his cock is throbbing like a newly-erect fourteen-year-old. He wills his hands not to shake, keeps his face carefully neutral, and slowly begins to undress. First his tie. Then his buttons, one by one. 

“Faster,” Alfie instructs. “Or I’ll have you do it with a pair of scissors.” 

Fuck. He hopes Alfie doesn’t start to stroke him, or come quicker than a virgin. 

He obeys, shrugging off his coat, his suit jacket, his vest methodically. He tries to look utterly bored with the situation, but traitorously, the blood rushes to his face as the blue silken fabric is exposed. 

It’s two-piece lingerie. A brazire, so delicate it’s see-through, hugging his pectorals. The skirt, like beautifully wilted flower petals. 

When he gets to his belt, he hesitates. Right now, the tent in his trousers is subtle, but the thin fabric of his undergarment will leave nothing to the imagination. 

“You want this to stop?” Alfie’s tone is serious enough to indicate that it’s a genuine inquiry – that Tommy has the option to end this – but mocking enough to indicate that he already knows what the answer will be.

Tommy says nothing, but shakes his head, livid that Alfie’s making him admit to his desire. 

Alfie responds by cocking the gun, making Tommy’s cock jump right along with it. “Then get your fucking trousers off.” 

Tommy does. His face burns as his erection springs free, sticking up from beneath the delicate fabric of his lingerie like a clothing peg. He does his best to remain dignified as he steps out of his discarded trousers, but it’s a lost cause. 

“Look at me,” Alfie instructs, and Tommy realizes that he hasn’t been. His eyes are fixed on the floor in front of him. 

It takes a great deal of effort to meet Alfie’s gaze, and more so to hold it. His eyes glittering with smugness and arousal, predatory hunger. Tommy can’t even describe how it feels, being looked at this way, but it makes his cock so hard it almost hurts. 

Alfie slowly retrieves something from his pocket, and Tommy hears the telltale jingling before he sees them: handcuffs. “Put them on,” Alfie orders him, tossing them with a clatter at Tommy’s feet. “Behind your back.”

Tommy looks at Alfie, furious, even as his prick throbs. “I’m not going to try to fight you.” 

“I should hope not, sweetie, because I could snap you like a biscuit,” Alfie huffs. Then, he drops his voice, as if to show Tommy he’s being serious. “Put them on. Now.” 

Tommy picks up the cuffs and puts them on behind his back. The realization of his helplessness regurgitates through him as they click into place. His cock bobs visibly, and he can only flush and glare as Alfie chuckles.

“You see, that’s why I had you put ‘em on, mate,” he explains. “Because you’re really just a silly, horny little thing, aren’t you, and since you clearly can’t be trusted to control your baser urges, I had to do something to keep you from trying to get yourself off, didn’t I?”

Tommy is livid, but it’s far too late to say he doesn’t want this. Saying no at this point would mean asking Alfie to unlock the cuffs, which would be just as embarrassing as anything Alfie has in store for him. He hopes. 

“Now,” Alfie growls, voice dropping again. He gestures with his gun. “Kindly get the fuck over here.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting this chapter in two -- I find it builds the anticipation! The next one will be up soon. <3
> 
> I cannot thank my lovely commenters enough, you guys keep me posting!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, everyone! 3,000+ words of pure filth (and some tenderness) dedicated to everyone who leaves comments and kudos. <3

Tommy makes his way to Alfie like a man on his way to the gallows. Which, in Alfie’s opinion, is somewhat undercut by the fact that his rock-hard dick is sticking out from beneath his silken skirt like an exclamation point. It’s a mortified shade of pink, tip glistening, as if begging for attention. 

Attention which Alfie isn’t going to be quick to give. This is, after all, about revenge, first and foremost. 

Tommy stands at attention, seemingly determined to get to the other end of this with some dignity intact. As if that ship hadn’t sailed on his own volition, when he’d made the highly questionable decision of provoking Alfie Solomons. He seems at least partially aware of this, his face the same vulnerable pink as the tip of his cock, eyelashes bashfully kissing his cheeks whenever he averts his gaze. 

“Right.” Alfie uses his words sparingly, for once in his life, knowing that his most effective tool will be to wait. Let Tommy feel it. “Now, I’ve thought long and hard, right, about your punishment, and what it should be. And I have indeed come to a decision.” 

He leans back, chair creaking, as if identifying that Alfie isn’t it’s usual occupant. “Now, what I first want you to do, yeah, is have a seat.” 

Tommy blinks, slowly. Alfie knows Tommy understands, can see it in the faint bob of his throat. But Tommy asks anyway, “Where am I supposed to sit, Mister Solomons, when you’re in my chair?”

“Where you usually do, mate.” Alfie points with the gun to his own lap, which would be a proper crazy thing to do if it were loaded. Alfie had considered leaving it loaded, for authenticity’s sake, but he didn’t want to risk it going off once he got too excited. “Right here.” 

Tommy looks indignant as a fucking barron, nose held high. “I refuse to sit on your lap, Alfie.”

“Yeah?” Alfie points the gun at Tommy’s head once more. “You sure about that?”

Tommy eyes the gun, his unimpressed expression undermined by his straining cock. “That’s not loaded.”

Alfie is not surprised in the slightest that Tommy has been able to intuit this. “You sure that’s a risk you want to take? Mind you, mate, I am quite insane.” 

There’s a beat where he’s not sure if Tommy’s going to obey right away. Part of him wants Tommy to make a break for it, so he can have the thrill of chasing him and dragging him back. But Tommy obeys, with an indulgent roll of his eyes. It’s just as well, really. Alfie, like Tommy, is fond of plans, and he has a very particular plan for how he wants this to go.

Tommy’s little arse settles nicely in the crook of Alfie’s lap, right atop his cock – which, up until this particular moment, he didn’t realize had gotten hard. Tommy evidently feels it too. His ears turn red, and he shifts just slightly, shy when confronted with such tangible desire. 

“You feel that, hmm?” Alfie improvises, eager to peck at newly discovered tender spots as he finds them. “You feel what you do to me?” He thrusts his hips just slightly, for emphasis. “You did this, you dirty, naughty thing, and you left me like this all day. Are you happy about that?”

Tommy, the suicidal little fuck, puffs his chest up a bit, and Alfie can anticipate the defiance just before it leaves his lips. “Yes. It seems to me you could use a lesson in patience.” 

Alfie growls, a surge of glee coursing through him. “Oh, one of us is going to get a lesson in patience, alright.” He sets his gun on the desk, and slowly unzips his pants, and takes his cock out. He’s surprised by his own hardness, so preoccupied with the thrill of this game that he didn’t even notice his own desire. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen, treacle.” He taps his cock against the lace-covered small of Tommy’s back, taunting him with it. “I’m going to spank you, right? Because you deserve to be spanked, for the downright bratty manner in which you behaved in our workplace this morning. But –” he lets his cock rest in the crease of Tommy’s arse, and delights in how red the back of his neck has become, the slight bow of his head – “I will only spank you once you have begged me for it.”

Tommy scoffs, an indignant little cluck that makes his body bounce nervously in Alfie’s lap. “Why the fuck would I beg you for that?”

“Because, poppet,” Alfie explains patiently, “once you have begged me for it, I will be assured that you understand the gravity of your own misconduct and that your discipline has been earned.”

“Well, I don’t, and I won’t,” Tommy quips back, surprisingly sharp for one in such a vulnerable position. “You’ll have to give me significantly greater incentive if you wish to secure my cooperation.” 

“Well. How’s this,” says Alfie, with a good amount of relish, “until you understand the gravity of your misdeeds, yeah, and until you express that understanding by begging me to spank you –” he leans in close, lips ghosting Tommy’s ear – “you, my lovely thing, will not be allowed to come.”

Tommy goes stiff, his whole body. Alfie knows why. It’s been proven that Alfie, with time and perseverance, can make him beg – beg to come, beg to be fucked – and afterwards, Tommy could barely look him in the eye. This is a new level of degradation, requiring a new level of humility. He can already feel Tommy’s desire warring with his pride, and he can’t wait for the moment when that wall of self-preservation shatters. 

He gets to work immediately, without waiting for further input from Tommy on the matter. He knows he won’t get any. He works patiently and methodically, like a man with all the time in the world. 

He starts with his nipples. Lightly tracing them, for a purposefully frustrating period of time, through the silken fabric. They go from hard to painfully hard, sticking up like thumbtacks beneath that lovely blue silk. 

He can feel Tommy’s whole body tightening with frustration, with discomfort at being watched. Only then does Alfie slip his hands beneath the material, pinching each hard nub between his thumb and forefinger and rolling it gently, relentlessly. The clock tells him he’s been at it for five minutes when he finally stops. 

Tommy gives a shaky sigh, though he hasn’t yet made a sound, the poor skin probably chafed already from such a repetitious motion. Alfie, in mock apology, kisses his neck, but leaves one hand under his brazire to toy with Tommy’s already oversensitized nipples as the other slides down his flat stomach, towards his straining cock. 

“Alfie.” It give Alfie a tremendous sense of pride that Tommy’s composure is breaking down already. “Don’t you dare.” 

“I really don’t think you’re in the position to make demands, now are you, petal?” If Tommy expected the same methodical treatment to his erection – so hard by now that it’s bowing slightly towards his belly – he’s wrong. Alfie is much, much worse. 

Eyeing the clock, he spends a good five minutes touching him everywhere except where he most wants to be touched. His inner thighs. His hips. His lower belly. Completely avoiding his erection. Once the first five minutes is up, he uses the back of his hand to lightly brush the underside of Tommy’s cock, suddenly, making Tommy jolt in surprise. 

The wetness of the tip, drooling onto Alfie’s hand, fuels his own desire. He brings his hand up and rubs the precum on Tommy’s cheek, eliciting a furious growl. “Just thought you might want it back,” Alfie offers innocently, kissing the newly wet spot on Tommy’s cheekbone. 

Afterwards, he returns touching Tommy everywhere but his cock, touching it, once, every five minutes. Twenty minutes of this have passed before Tommy’s starts chasing Alfie’s hand with his hips – it’s subtle at first, but after another five minutes, he’s rolling them, making frustrated, barely audible little sounds. 

At one point, Tommy’s cuffed hands fumble behind for Alfie’s cock, as if he can somehow turn the tables. Alfie responds by pinching his tender inner thigh warningly. “Don’t make this harder for yourself than it has to be, love,” he says, before resuming his ministrations.

“Touch me,” Tommy finally growls, a desperate whine to his voice. 

“Now, that’s not how we ask, is it?”

Tommy thumps his head back against Alfie’s shoulder in frustration. “Please.” 

“That’s a start.”

Still, Alfie’s hand begins working Tommy’s prick up and down, just the way he likes, and Tommy momentarily relaxes against him, as if he thinks the worst of it is over. He really is a silly boy. 

“There we go.” Alfie picks up the pace, and Tommy gasps softly, his spine arching with pleasure. “There we go, yeah, you like that, don’t you, you lovely fucking creature,” Alfie growls, soaking in each and every one of Tommy’s little involuntary sounds, the heat of his body. The jangle of his handcuffs as his wrists strain, fingertips brushing the head of Alfie’s cock. “Beautiful fucking thing you are, and you know it, don’t you, you little fucking slag.” His strokes become more sure, more aggressive, making Tommy twitch and inhale sharply. “Parading yourself around before me in the workplace, just in the hope that you’ll get what you need.”

Alfie’s familiar with Tommy’s tells, and when he starts to tense up, Alfie knows his orgasm is coming. Theoretically, at least. 

“Well.” Alfie kisses the back of his neck. “You’ll have to earn it.”

Alfie stops at just the right time to leave Tommy writhing in his lap, body chasing pleasure that is no longer coming. “You bastard, you fucking, fucking bastard,” he grits out, gasping, as if in pain.

“Ssshhhh. Shush, you’re alright, I’ve got you.” Alfie smooths his hair, knowing this gentleness will only make the agony worse. 

He waits till Tommy’s calmed down a bit, panting like a rabbit in a snare, before he asks, “You ready to beg yet, sweetie?”

“Go to hell,” Tommy informs him, voice already horse.

“Hmm, suit yourself.”

And Alfie starts over. He works his way from Tommy’s chest to his cock, and then starts stroking again. Tommy remains stiff and silent for as long as he possibly can this time, every muscle rigid. So, just to make things harder – and because he wants to – Alfie starts talking.

“You have no idea the things I was thinking about doing to you today,” he growls. “I wanted to take you right in front of all my men. Make you ride me, round little arse bouncing in my lap. You wouldn’t even fucking complain, would you? Bet you’d moan, like the whore you are.”

“ _ Shut up. _ ”

“No, I don’t think I will. Think you need someone to listen to, don’t you?” Alfie slows his strokes, but makes them firmer, dragging them out torturously. Tommy’s breath hitches. “Brave little thing, walking around all tough, convincing everyone you’re big and strong. You start to believe it yourself. But it’s alright, sweetie, you don’t have to be strong here. Daddy’s got you.”

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Tommy breathes out the word, barely audible. 

“Yeah? You like that, do you, when Daddy takes care of you?” Alfie, sensing he’s onto something, speeds up his strokes. Tommy starts to squirm, making bitten-off little sounds. “Dirty, horny, silly little thing you are, can’t seem to behave. But don’t worry, Daddy’s got you now, and Daddy’ll make sure you get what you need.” 

It’s the word that does it –  _ Daddy _ – because Tommy tenses up so much quicker this time. Once again, Alfie pulls away, smoothing his hair and shushing him as he writhes and swears.

Once again, he asks, “Are you ready to beg yet?”

And once again, he gets the same answer: “Fuck you.”

It goes on like this for an hour. Alfie brings Tommy right to the edge, again and again, and waits for him to calm down before starting over. His little prick is so hard it looks painful, leaking precum like it’s weeping. 

Alfie, being Alfie, isn’t hesitant to remark on this. “Now you know how I’ve felt all day,” he adds. “Being denied what I want so dearly.” 

“Poor fucking you,” Tommy snaps. 

This earns him a few particularly firm strokes before Alfie’s hand is cruelly retracted once more. Tommy makes a frustrated sound that sounds suspiciously close to tears. 

_ There we go,  _ Alfie thinks,  _ Now we’re getting somewhere _ .

After he’s edged again, Tommy is crying. Alfie realizes this because he goes suspiciously silent, his shoulders heaving. 

Alfie grabs him by the chin and unceremoniously wrenches his face towards him. The sight that greets him is one of mythic beauty, Tommy’s huge, frosty eyes glassy and beading over with frustrated tears. 

“Oh, sweetie. Why make it so hard for yourself?” Alfie keeps his hand clamped on Tommy’s chin, in direct contrast to his gentle words. “You know what you have to ask for.” 

Alfie can see Tommy’s resolve quivering like the unshed tears. Those heavy lids fall shut, causing a drop to bead over, and Alfie knows it’s shattered. 

“Alfie –” Tommy wets his lips. “Alfie, would you –” he trails off, and tries to drag his head away, but Alfie’s hold is firm. 

“It’s alright. Take all the time you need.”

Tommy inhales deeply, sniffling slightly. “Would you please spank me, Alfie?”

“Why, Thomas.” Alfie smiles, and it feels devilish. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Now, Alfie’s original inclination was to bend Tommy over the desk. But after all this, it feels too impersonal. Instead, he positions Tommy over his knee. His little arse looks delectable covered in silk, and peeling it back feels like unwrapping a present. 

He stays like this for a moment, just feeling it, Tommy’s heat draped across his thighs, his little prick prodding him and leaking through the fabric of Alfie’s pants. Letting Tommy feel Alfie’s erection beneath his fluttering stomach.

“Alright. Now.” Alfie smooths his hand over Tommy’s buttox, almost womanly in their roundness. Gropes them, kneading gently. “I’m going to spank you – I think we’ve established that – and you’re going to count for me. For every number you miss, you get an extra stroke.”

“Anything else?” Tommy sniffs, snarking even in this vulnerable position.

“Yes,” says Alfie, though he hadn’t been planning on it. He thinks for a minute. “You’re going to count in Romany. Just to spice things up.” 

“You’ve gotta be fucking –” 

Alfie interrupts him with a sharp slap, using full force, making full use of his palm. Tommy, for a moment, is stunned into glorious silence. So Alfie slaps him again. “I don’t hear you counting, poppet.”

“Adja poo kar.”

Now, either Tommy has a death wish, or he’s forgotten that Alfie is familiar with profanity in every language. 

“That –” Alfie slaps him – “is not –” Alfie slaps him harder – “fucking” – harder still – “COUNTING.” He punctuates it with a resonant crack across both cheeks. “Now, just for that, I’m adding an extra ten on top of the number I was gonna give you. So you’d better get to couning, before you make this even worse for yourself.” 

He pauses, giving Tommy a minute to feel the sting of it and contemplate if making this worse for himself is something he actually wants to do. 

Then, he strikes the already nicely pickening flesh again. 

This time, Tommy counts obediently. 

“Yek.” One. “Duy.” Two. “Trin.” Three. “Shtar.” Four. “Panj.” Five.

His pale skin always reddens beautifully. Alfie alternates cheeks, making sure to cover as much vulnerable skin as possible. 

“Desh-en’a.” Nineteen, and Tommy’s voice is beautifully strained. “Bish.” Twenty.

By the time Tommy’s reached “triyanda,” or thirty, his arse has turned a lovely, berry pink. “There we go, love.” Alfie smooths Tommy’s arse with his hand, letting him think for a minute that it’s over. “You’re halfway there.” 

Tommy goes completely stiff, but he knows better than to say anything. It’s amazing what a sore backside will do. 

By “panj-var-desh” – fifty – Tommy’s already choking out numbers, breathing sniffling inhales between them. And by “shov-var-desh” – sixty – his cheeks have gone from berry pink to the indignant red of dark cherries.

Alfie smooths his back as he lies, panting and clearly in pain, draped over Alfie’s lap. “There we go sweetie, get it all out. You did so well.” Alfie reaches into his pocket for the oil he brought with him. “You’re going to get what you need.”

Alfie fingers him open just like that, Tommy still draped over his knees and handcuffed, Alfies fingers between his dark red cheeks and working his hole open thoroughly, relentlessly. “Surprised you don’t have cum dripping out of you already, considering your whorish behavior today,” Alfie informs him, just for humiliation’s sake. 

By the time his hole is worked slack and Tommy’s prick is twitching, trapped against Alfie’s thigh, Alfie forces him into position straddling his lap. 

His face is a fucking sight to behold, even more so than before. His cheeks flushed apple-red, eyes like quivering dewdrops, lips chewed pink and glistening. A picture of total despair. 

Alfie knots his fingers in Tommy’s hair and takes his mouth, plundering it with his tongue, just because he can. It’s so hot inside, it feels like Tommy’s whole body is a furnace.

He doesn’t stop kissing as he guides Tommy’s arse onto his cock, and leans back so he can thrust. Alfie’s a cruel man, but making Tommy ride him on top of everything else would just be evil. 

Still, Tommy makes a sound that’s somewhere between pleasure and despair, hiding his face against Alfie’s shoulder. Alfie lives for this, the moment when it gets to be too much for him.

“Ssshhh. It’s alright, you can hide if you need to.” Alfie’s not sure if he’s being kind or cruel – probably both – as he cups Tommy’s head against his shoulder. “My good little one. Daddy will take care of you.” 

Predictably, Tommy doesn’t last long after Alfie starts stroking him, surely and in time with his thrusts. Tommy spills into his hand with a sob, pressing his face into the crook of Alfie’s neck. 

A wave of love nearly overwhelms Alfie, but he fucks his way through it, knocking his fingers in Tommy’s hair as he spills inside of him. 

“Meyn lib,” he murmurs instead, meaning ‘my love.’ And then, because that’s too close to the truth, he tries, “Gelibter.” The one I love.


	7. Chapter 7

Alfie, a repugnant man and a menace to society, makes Tommy eat his own cum afterwards. He uses two fingers to scoop it up from where it had splattered between them, pushing them into Tommy’s mouth and rubbing it over his tongue, making him taste it.

“Wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he informs him, watching Tommy with eyes that are dark with insatiable, glittering, ursine hunger.

It’s disgusting – Tommy can just barely tolerate the taste of anyone’s cum, and the knowledge that he’s consuming his own is beyond demeaning – but he can’t muster up any more defiance for today. Not even when Alfie makes him lick his hand clean afterwards, and his face feels like it’s been painted with fire. Alfie had edged and spanked and fucked the fight right out of him, at least for the moment.

Afterwards, Alfie eases Tommy off of his cock, shushing him with condescending sweetness when he couldn’t suppress a gasp at the sensation. He makes Tommy turn around, and then he spreads his bruised, burning cheeks, and he watches for minutes as the cum drips from Tommy’s fucked-open hole. The bastard even has the audacity to put his spectacles on to examine it more carefully. 

He’s impressed by Alfie’s capacity for sadism, even as he stands there, staring resolutely at the ground in front of him. Still cuffed and still helpless, and well-aware that Alfie can and will make this worse for him if he dares to object to this utter humiliation. His spent cock, the traitor that it is, twitches in a valiant but futile effort to regain its hardness.

Alfie takes his good time puttering around the office and making sure it’s “locked up for the day” before he uncuffs Tommy, glaring at him as he does so, as if to remind him not to try anything. Tommy doesn’t need a reminder right now. 

Alfie helps him dress, and Tommy lets him. He wants the tenderness, after all that, and he doesn’t have the energy to hate himself for wanting it. Even if he still can’t bring himself to meet Alfie’s eyes right now. 

“I’m driving you home,” Alfie informs him. “I’ll send someone to fetch your car for you, but you’re not driving right now.” 

Tommy doesn’t answer. He’s glad he doesn’t have to be alone just yet. Or worse, face Ada, and have to hide out in his empty bedroom for the rest of the evening, cum cooling inside of him. Right now, he just wants to be held, but of course he’d never ask. The mere impulse makes him want to shrivel in on himself. He should be beyond this by now. He isn’t a child.

Alfie guides him out of the building like a delicate young bride, even holds the door of the car for him. Clever man, he’d parked it just out of Tommy’s view, behind a stack of boxes and barrels, so Tommy wouldn’t notice when he’d entered the building.

“You’ll have to forgive me if we pass over a few bumps, love,” Alfie tells him, with mock sympathy.

_ Fuck you,  _ Tommy thinks, but doesn’t say. Alfie seems to be leaving his dom mode, but he still wouldn’t put it past him to put Tommy over the hood of the car and give him a few more good blows.

Alfie starts to chatter as they start driving, about the events of the day, which quickly deviate into barely-related tangents. Tommy doesn’t know why he finds Alfie’s voice so comforting. 

He leans back and closes his eyes and listens – well, doesn’t really listen, it’s a bit convoluted and hard to follow and absurd, but soaks it in, and tries to store some of this for when he’s home alone. 

* * *

Tommy’s fallen asleep by the time they park. He looks so innocent without the stress and tension he wears throughout the day, so ridiculously young. He even snores softly. 

Despite the hours of enforced vulnerability Alfie just subjected him to, this is when he appears the most human. 

He almost doesn’t want to wake him, but he wagers Tommy would react violently if he were to wake up to being carried, and it would be sort of stupid, wouldn’t it, to just sit here in the car. 

“Tommy?” Alfie shakes his shoulder. He’s not used to waking people gently – he’s more of the sort to smack people awake, or splash them in the face with the nearest liquid. “Tommy love, it’s time to wake up.”

Tommy wakes like a kitten, bleary-eyed with sleep. His brows scrunch up as he re-orients himself to his surroundings, and fuck, there it is again, that feeling in Alfie’s chest. Love, he supposes. Fucking annoying, is what it is. He wants to brush it off like an irritating bug. 

“This isn’t my house,” Tommy mutters, voice groggy. The seatbelt has left a pink imprint on the side of his face. Fuck. 

“No, sweetie, it’s my house.” Alfie makes his voice purposefully condescending, which makes Tommy’s scowl deepen. 

“Why did you take me to your house?” Tommy looks down at himself, like he suspects Alfie’s been stealing his valuables. “Fancy kidnapping me on top of everything?”

“Now, that’s a nice thought. But no. I’m not about to leave you alone, after all I put you through.”

At the mention of it, Tommy’s face darkens, already sleep-pink cheeks turning red. What, had he thought Alfie’d forgotten? 

“Silly boy.” Alfie thumbs Tommy’s jaw, affectionately. “Come on. Let’s get you a bath.”

“I had other things I needed to do,” Tommy protests, though he’s already reaching for the car door. 

“Let ‘em wait till tomorrow.” Alfie gets out of the car, and goes around the other side to greet Tommy. He continues, “You need to practice that, you know. Letting things wait every once in a while.” 

“I made you wait.” Tommy’s walking with a slight limp, and grimacing at what’s surely the sensation of cum leaking out of his hole. Though his cheekiness has returned, he’s still having a hard time looking at Alfie directly. “Look where it got me.”

Alfie smiles, kissing his temple. “I’m not sorry at all, dear.” 

* * *

Despite his ruthlessness, Alfie is gentle with Tommy for the rest of the evening. He washes his hair in the tub, working his fingers through it to massage the scalp, while going off on ridiculous verbal tangents. Afterwards, he rubs him down with some kind of oil, especially the bruises on his arse. 

Tommy doesn’t know why he’s accepting this. Yes, he wants this tenderness – even though he knows he could never deserve it – but that doesn’t mean he’d take it under normal circumstances. It feels strange and vulnerable to allow someone to treat him so gently. And unlike last time, he doesn’t even have the excuse of being ill. 

Would he have let Grace do this to him? Well, she’d never asked. But probably not. The mere thought of letting her care for him this way embarrasses him. The same goes for most of his other lovers. All of them, actually. 

“Will you let me do you next?” he says, just as Alfie’s about to put the oil away. 

Alfie tilts his head, and looks at him like a curious dog. “Why not.” He says it in a way that makes it seem like he’s surprised by his own answer. 

Tommy feels uncharacteristically shy as he rubs Alfie down, keeping his gaze lowered. Well. He always seems to feel shy around Alfie, when they’re like this. He’d been shy as a child, a small child, when the world still seemed big, and he hadn’t gotten pissed off at it yet. Maybe he would be with more people, if they could challenge him the way Alfie does.

He loves the way Alfie’s skin glistens in the low light, the sturdiness of him, like not even a hurricane could knock him over. He loves the heat of him, the feel of him. It feels so strange, to be naked with someone like this. Truly naked. 

He can feel Alfie’s eyes on him, watching. He looks up and meets them.

* * *

“So, why were you being so gentle with me?” Tommy’s fussing with the bed as he asks this, straightening out blankets. Seems proper redundant to Alfie, seeing as they’re just about to get into it anyway. “You were driving me up the wall.” 

Tommy seems more open now. Just a little. It bolsters Alfie’s spirits, makes him feel like they’re getting somewhere. 

“Got some advice, from an idiot.” Alfie leans against the wall, watching Tommy’s body move beneath the borrowed, too-big sleeping shirt. “Some proper bad advice, it would seem.” 

Tommy frowns, plumping pillows, arranging them along the headboard. “Wouldn’t say it’s bad. Just bad for us,” he supposes. “Most people like a gentle touch. I’m not most people.” 

“No.” Alfie cranes his neck to get a glimpse of Tommy’s arse, still delightfully dark pink. “You’re a little brat who needs a firm hand, is what you are.” 

Tommy glares at him, though his otherworldly stare is somewhat diminished by the berry-pink flush that overtakes his face. Alfie wonders if there’s anyone else who can make Tommy blush the way he can. If there is, he decides, he’ll simply have to kill them.

“Well, come on then,” he sighs, examining his work. “I did what I could. I’ll make it properly tomorrow, if you’re up by then.”

Alfie’s never seen the point of making beds, if you’re just going to mess them up again. It’s a futile endeavor, which he vowed never to do again after he left the military. Besides, he has a maid to do that. But he supposes he wouldn’t mind if Tommy did it anyway. 

He shimmies under the covers, and can reluctantly acknowledge that they feel better made. Tommy settles in way across from him, on the very edge. Which will never do, now will it. 

Alfie, who’s never been one to ask for what he wants, simply knots his fingers in Tommy’s hair and drags him closer. Tommy makes a disgruntled sound, but doesn’t resist, even snuggling up into the crook of Alfie’s arm. 

Alfie doesn’t even realize he’s laughing until Tommy politely informs him to, “Shut the fuck up.” 

“Just wondering why you can’t always be like this,” Alfie offers, unapologetically. “The world could be so much nicer. I bet we could even attain global peace, if we could just figure out the secret to ensuring your good behavior.” 

“It really isn’t hard, Solomons.” Tommy pauses, and Alfie can’t see his face, but he gets the feeling Tommy’s trying to decide if he should say this. “You have to earn it. It feels wrong to just give it to you.”

Huh. So, Tommy wants to be made to give in. Strangely enough, this makes sense: he can imagine that, for someone who’s been fighting his entire life, unearned surrender would feel perverse.

“An interesting marriage this will be indeed,” he muses aloud. 

“For the last time, Alfie, I’m not marrying you.” 

“Yeah you are, sweetheart.” Tommy sounds like he knows it, too, though Alfie doesn’t add that part. Instead, he says, “I’ll earn you. In this world, and the next.” 

Tommy scoffs, a little puff of air against him. It feels like his eyes are closed. “Oh, so one lifetime’s not enough for you anymore? You have to pin me down in the next one, too?”

“‘Fraid so,” Alfie replies gravely. “I just can’t get enough of you, mate.” 

There’s a quiet moment, in which the world feels absurdly, almost disgustingly perfect. So of course, Alfie has to ruin it.

“Tommy love?”

“Hmm.” 

“Would you like some tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this to get so tender, considering the way this chapter began. 
> 
> I was going to wait till next weekend to post this, but I have another fic idea idea for this series I'd really like to start working on! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone leaving comments, you keep this series posting regularly. <3


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